


By Watercress and Bloodroot

by TheMarvelousMadMadamMim



Series: This Spell We Cast [6]
Category: The Worst Witch (TV 2017)
Genre: Anxiety, Comfort Sex, Day 11, Day 13, F/F, TWW Valentines LemonFest 2019, liquid, my kink is healthy supportive relationships, new moon magic, spells
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-13
Updated: 2019-02-13
Packaged: 2019-10-27 12:50:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17767109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMarvelousMadMadamMim/pseuds/TheMarvelousMadMadamMim
Summary: Sometimes, Hecate's anxiety makes her distant. Always, Ada knows she will find her way back.





	By Watercress and Bloodroot

**Author's Note:**

> Technically not connected to my Hackle Summer Trope Series, but the idea of Hecate's magical signature being luna moths--particularly in how she shows her magic to Ada--is taken from that series.

The light tap of a cat’s paw, growing more insistent, wakes Ada up. She gives a bleary-eyed squint at Pendle, who gives a small mewl, sounding utterly heartbroken.

Ada already knows what it is, but she rolls over to check anyways, her hand giving her an answer long before her eyes do.

Hecate is no longer in bed. And neither is her familiar, Morgana. Hence Pendle’s distress. Ada sighs, takes a moment to bring her brain back to full speed. She sits up, opens the curtains with a magical flick of her wrist.

Of course. It’s a new moon tonight.

She could easily go back to sleep, knowing full well that her bed will be warmer and fuller in the morning, once Hecate has returned from her ritual. But she’s awake now and she really can’t deny herself the chance to watch something truly beautiful.

She tries not to think of the other reason influencing her desire to go: Hecate’s distance of late, the small ways she has withdrawn into herself, the first heralds of darker things to come. It’s always so subtle at first, but the familiar warnings are beginning to appear. It shows in how her body radiates with an odd nervous energy when they make love, how her smile doesn't quite reach her eyes as often, how her gaze always holds something just beyond Ada's reach, something more, something small, something frightened.

 _Small_ and _frightened_ can easily become _overwhelming_ and _frightening_. And often does, in times like these. But Ada knows that it will pass, and it will come again, just as before. Still, she can remind Hecate that she is here, with her, always. Over the years, she has learned that while Hecate will never ask for her company during these times, she is always grateful for it.

So she dresses herself warmly for the cold night air and sends out a locating spell. She’s slightly surprised to find herself atop the parapets of the Cackles, instead of in Hecate’s private garden, where she usually performs her lunar rituals, every new moon and every full moon, without fail, no matter how tired she is or whatever current hell they might be wading through.

It’s just another thing to admire about Hecate Hardbroom. Her commitment, her zeal, her desire to return her magic to its source, to show her gratitude for all that she has been given and to thank the Goddess for all that she has been spared. Ada smiles softly at the thought. She makes sure to step a little more loudly than usual, to send out a small wave of her magic to announce her presence so that she doesn’t frighten her lover.

Hecate’s eyes open, immediately landing on Ada with a sense of expectancy. She gives a ghost of a smile and then dips her head again, closing her eyes and focusing on her task. Ada magics a pillow to sit on, the stone of the castle walls much too hard and too cold to be comfortable.

Not that it has affected Hecate in the least. She’s seated on her knees, loose black skirt of her traditional robes splayed out around her like some kind of dark princess in a fairy tale (she’d be absolutely pissed if she knew that’s what Ada thought of her, in this moment, Ada thinks with a smirk). The circle of candles, purple and white and black, flicker around her, dancing along the lines of her face, creating darker shadows in the folds of her skirt, giving her an air of theatrical surrealism, making her seem even more like a performer on a stage for Ada’s audience of one.

And she does perform. Her movements become slower, more intentional, more exaggerated, still tinged with an airy gracefulness that makes her mesmerizing instead of overblown. Her meticulous nature is on full display in this moment: the precise spacing of the candles, the crystals and stones between them, the herbs laid out in a neat semi-circle before her, the silver bowl just in front of her knees, its curved sides seeming to ripple under the shine of the candlelight. Her hair is still in the usual loose braid she wears at night, several strands completely escaped and floating in the light breeze, making her seem even more ethereal.

She can feel Ada’s gaze on her, could almost trace exactly the path of her lover’s eyes, her skin prickling with the familiar electric feeling of knowing she has the full attention of Ada Cackle.

She hadn’t expected Ada to wake, to join her, but it’s quite fortunate. She had steeped this bloodroot in red wine, last new moon, had let it sit beneath the changing moon to fully absorb the power necessary for her spell. A spell that will specifically be cast for Ada.

Now she looks up, heart stopping at the way Ada’s eyes meets hers, shining in the candlelight. Her throat tightens with a flurry of unnamable emotions, only furthering her resolve to weave this spell. With shaking lungs and steady hands, she gingerly lifts the silver bowl, the slow swish of the wine and bloodroot the only sound in the cold, quiet night.

“This is my offering, blood and moon,” she speaks to the night, to the Goddess, to any being in the Universe who will listen and keep her spell true.

Ada sits up slightly at those words, and Hecate feels a small prick of guilt. Bloodroot is commonly used in spells that required a blood sacrifice these days, but if Hecate is honest, she’d slit her own skin open, pour out every drop in her veins if need be. The only reason she didn’t use her own blood is because she knows that Ada would have objected—blood magic, no matter its intent, is considered dark magic now, expressly forbidden.

Hecate Hardbroom knows this. She also knows her hot and hungry lover’s heart would have called down the blackest magic in the Universe, anything, everything for this woman. Forbidden means nothing to a woman in love, that emotion so often praised as pure and good that drives saints to sin in its name.

Sometimes it scares her, how easily she could tip over the line, that knife’s edge she feels herself dancing on so often. But this is the power of Ada’s love—it is Ada who pulls her back, who keeps her bloody feet from slipping completely, who makes her want to choose the lighter path, the righter path.

“I cast this spell of protection,” she raises her voice again, eyes still locked onto Ada’s, seeing the slight easing of tension around those blue eyes, those eyes she’s lost herself in a thousand times, will happily drown in a thousand more. “I call upon all that is within me, all that is within this Universe, to aid and protect the one I love, the blood of my veins, the air of my lungs, the spark of my mind, the strength of my body, and the flame of my heart.”

Her voice is steady, but every inch of her body is trembling. She doesn’t make grand declarations of love, though she tries to show Ada her feelings, a dozen ways every single day. It isn’t fear, but rather a desire to find the perfect words, and her words are never perfect. But in this moment, they feel very close to perfection, and a warmth blossoms in her chest at the way Ada’s expression softens, the way her face shines and her eyes twinkle with tears.

She hopes Ada accepts this blessing, hopes Ada understands why she needs to cast this spell. She still wakes at night, body shaking with the sensation of ice in her veins, the blinding fear of failing again, losing Ada again, losing their girls again. The dreams have gotten worse, as they always do this time of year, and she feels herself slipping again. Losing more, losing again.

Hecate lifts the offering to the sky, holding it there for a moment before gently setting it down again. She scoops her hands into the bowl, a tender cup to pour some of the liquid onto the cobblestones. She murmurs more blessings of protection upon the stones and all who sleep within, animal and human. The palms of her hands are already stained a darker shade, the pungent smell of sour wine and rotting plant pricking her nostrils uncomfortably.

Regardless of smell or stain, this is her only true hope for some sense of power in this powerless situation. She hopes this will ease her dreams again, will loosen the constant tightness in her throat, the feeling of some invisible monster's teeth just against her vocal chords.

Ada’s chest tightens as she watches Hecate quietly plead for the protection and safety of their girls, their colleagues, their friends. Her nimble hands press into the stone, slipping in small circles, as if comforting a crying child. If Hecate could pour her magic into this castle and still survive, she would do it, Ada thinks sometimes. She likes to think, rather proudly, that perhaps their relationship is what holds her back from just melting away into the stone, sometimes. It sounds a bit egotistical, Ada knows, and she’s never wanted to be Hecate’s sole reason for living—but in some ways, she thinks that love can be egotistical. Love can be demanding, and she hopes that Hecate always feels a responsibility to stay, here, with her, with the girls and the life built around them. If that makes her wicked, then Ada will never repent.

Hecate looks up to her again, and Ada’s chest tightens for an entirely different reason. Hecate is utterly serious, entirely focused in her task in this moment, but goddess, she is breathtaking. Ada feels a slight frisson of electricity as Hecate takes the silver bowl in her hands again and rises to her feet. She steps through the ring of candle, not bothering to lift her skirt over the flames—she’s indestructible in her magic, every inch of her too enchanted to be touched by something as menial as fire. Ada’s heart surges with love for this woman and the power she wields, for her ability to love so deeply that it makes her something more than human, something utterly divine, in all ways.

The night is chilling, far too cold for Ada to be out here, Hecate thinks, now that she’s out of her circle of protection, away from the heat of the candles. She hears two quick sounds behind her—Pendle and Morgana, coming from the shadows to be with their mistresses again, their familiar senses aware that something important is taking place.

Hecate kneels in front of Ada, her face seeming paler and more fragile without the golden glow of candlelight. Her eyes are wide, still far too fearful for Ada’s liking. She dips her middle finger in the liquid again, raising her hand up in question, finger curling in slightly, a single deep purple drop slipping down the curve of her finger, silently asking for Ada’s permission.

Ada tilts forward slightly, just enough for Hecate to notice, to understand that she may proceed. With a slow, shaking breath, Hecate anoints Ada’s forehead, quietly continuing her spell.

“Keep her safe from all harm. Break any hexes that may stand against her.” The finger dips back into the bowl again, this time coming up to the hollow of Ada’s throat. “Let any spell cast against her crumble into dust. Let it fall three times upon its caster.”

Ada shifts slightly, holding her hands out, palm up. She’s had blessings similar to this placed on her, she knows where each bit of potion will be applied. Hecate touches each wrist. “Let her blood be steady in her veins, let her body be sheltered from any illness called against her.”

Now Hecate shifts back, giving Ada room to uncross her legs and magick away her socks and slippers so that Hecate can place a bead of herb-infused wine on the top of each foot. “Let her walk through flame and ice without harm. Let her face chaos and catastrophe in victory. Let her be safe, now and always.”

Hecate kneels further down, giving a gentle kiss to Ada’s left ankle. A touch so simple shouldn’t feel so erotic, but Ada can’t deny the way her body ignites in response.

Hecate’s dark eyes flick up to meet her gaze again as she sits back up slowly, the same melodramatic slowness as before. The light sound of Morgana and Pendle shifting closer takes her attention, she bestows a small dab of the mixture on each cat’s head, letting her hand smooth all the way down each sleek black body, giving an affection pull of their tails. Then the two shadows skitter off into the night, most likely to cause some chaos and catastrophe of their own.

Ada loves the warm way Hecate smiles at their departing familiars. Again, a flash of that love, that awesome, terrible, overwhelming love.

Hecate turns back to see Ada looking rather pointedly between her and the silver bowl. She understands—it is her spell, only she can command its power, but Ada wants her to anoint herself as well, to pull herself under her own spell of protection.

With a slight smile, Hecate obliges, tilting her head as if to say _satisfied?,_ once she is done. Ada beams in approval.

The bowl rises above them, guided by Hecate’s magic as it circles the Academy grounds, pouring out small droplets here and there to further strengthen the spell. The two witches simply watch it until it disappears from view.

“What exactly was your plan, if I hadn’t shown up tonight?” Ada is curious.

Hecate smirks. “I considered just pouring the entire bowl over your head while you slept.”

Ada’s arched brow informs her what a deadly mistake that would have been. Hecate gives a single, light laugh.

“Well, I’m safe now,” Ada says, her voice little more than a whisper. The candles are still burning and Hecate’s hair is still wisping around her, the air still filled with the magic of her spell. Ada can’t help but feel reverent.

“You’re safe now,” Hecate repeats, her smile deepening as her fingertips gently trace the outline of Ada’s face. Her palms are stained and smell of the bloodroot and wine, but Ada doesn’t care. The lines are Hecate’s dark eyes are still etched with fear, with worry, with love and its sickly cousin anxiety.

“I’m not going anywhere, Hecate,” Ada reminds her gently, taking those stained hands in her own. “I’m right here. And I’m staying right here.”

Hecate merely nods, a quick, jerky thing which informs Ada that she’s holding back tears.

Ada pulls her into a fierce kiss, reassuring her of her nearness, her strength, her very-much-aliveness. Hecate breathes a sigh of relief deep into Ada’s lungs and Ada can feel the tension leaving the younger woman’s body. Ada’s fingers thread through that already-messy braid, only loosening it more.

“Finish your spell,” Ada commands quietly, finally pulling away, letting her hand stay on Hecate’s cheek. The intent is unmistakable in her words. “Then we’ll go back to bed.”

Hecate gives a small nod again, lips curling into a secret smile. She lightly takes Ada’s wrist and turns to plant a single, warm kiss in her palm. Then she rises and moves back to her circle of candles, hands wide and out at her sides in a theatrical air. She’s back in the center, and the flames rise slightly higher, shadows dancing up her hips and torso as she turns her face to the moonless sky, giving the last of her incantation and completing the spell.

A funnel of wind shoots from the heavens, landing like a waterfall on Hecate’s shoulders, pushing further down and rippling across the stones, blowing out the candles in its forcefulness. Ada’s hair flutters from the breeze, and she can’t help but grin at the power she feels simmering through the air. Hecate’s power. Some of it is a genetic gift, inherited from a strong family line, but so much of it is due to Hecate herself, her diligence and determination. Her strength of will is still a source of immense pride for Ada, as is her moral certainty—even if Ada doesn’t always agree with her morals, she has to admit that Hecate Hardbroom is one of the most consistent human beings she’s ever met. A trait both admirable and aggravating as hell, depending on the situation.

Currently, it’s admirable. Though admiration isn’t exactly the emotion she’s feeling as her lover vanishes the evidence of her ritual and moves back to Ada with the easy roll of her hips, the gait that only Ada sees, because only Ada sees her without her towering heels. Ada rises to her feet, vanishing her pillow and reaching out to take Hecate’s hands in hers before they transfer away, back to the cozy warmth of Ada’s bedroom.

They return to bed, but certainly not to sleep. They undress each other without the aid of magic, relishing this quiet act of domesticity—if they make love at night, it’s usually before falling asleep, so they’re too exhausted for grand theatrics, and if they wait til morning, as they usually do, it’s a sweet sleepy thing, something that invigorates rather than exhausts.

But they’ve both had a few hours sleep and morning is still so far away. And Ada can still see the lines in Hecate’s face, the worry still heavy in the creases around her eyes and mouth—her heart clenches with the need to chase those shadows away, to bring back her shining girl, her bright full moon of a lover.

Ada sits on the edge of the bed, leaning in to place a tender kiss on the softness of Hecate’s stomach, smiling at the way Hecate’s hands run through her hair. She looks up and offers another reassuring smile.

Hecate’s smile in response doesn’t reach her eyes. She’s trying to be brave, for Ada, but her fear is always a wolf, lurking in the corner of her heart and mind, ready to attack with bloodthirsty ferocity. Ada squeezes her hips, trying to relay her own strength into the soft flesh. Then she moves further back, to the center of the bed, beckoning Hecate to follow.

They sit facing each other, Ada’s legs slipping under Hecate’s as she pulls her closer, lets their chests touch, lets Hecate feel each rise and fall of her breathing as they kiss, light touches deepening as they pull each other into a familiar whirlpool. Hecate’s hands are in Ada’s hair, her body pressed as firmly against her as possible, and under the desire, Ada can feel Hecate’s desperation, her attempts to keep her own anxiety at bay.

Hecate gets like this, sometimes. It’s as much a part of her personality as her droll inside jokes and her overly-theatrical reactions with her students. As vital to how Ada loves her as her tenderness and empathy, as powerful as her magic. The other facets of her cannot exist without this one, and Ada loves it, has spent so much of her life learning how best to approach it. Hecate loves and loves with a ferocity that would blind some, and it comes from the equally deep fear she keeps as well. Fear of losing those she cares about, fear of finally seeing a day when she cannot save them, fear of being too late, too little, too much, too _everything_ to do anything.

The anxiety seems its highest in the fall. Ada has learned the seasons of Hecate’s inner world, and she understands that fall brings back memories. Memories of hostile takeovers, ill-fated duels and time spent trapped in paintings, of Council hearings and temporary headmistresses and watching their girls slowly lose the spark in their eyes as they turned to ice.

Hecate often finds joy in small things, relishes the moments of warmth all the more because of their past—but sometimes (not often, but often enough), she feels a prickling in her brain, a little voice whispering _it’s been too quiet for too long, you’re missing something, hurry, find the danger before it finds you, you’re missing something, what is it, what’s coming, when’s it coming to get you, to get Ada, to get the girls, oh, you’re getting slower in your old age, you’re slipping, it’s coming and you’ll miss it, miss it until it’s too late, hurry, hurry, hurry, danger, danger, danger!_

Which is why Ada was not surprised to find her lover casting a protective spell on this moonless night. And why she doesn’t question why Hecate shakes like a leaf as she tightens her hold around the blonde. Ada understands because she’s felt this creeping fear before, too, will feel it again a hundred times, she knows. It is the price they pay.

“Hecate,” Ada gently pulls her back, holding Hecate’s face in her hands. She waits for those dark and wild eyes to meet hers, for them to soften slightly, to come back to her. Then she speaks again, “I’m here. I’m here.”

Hecate blinks, overcome with relief at how Ada understands, how she always understands and does what she can, how she never calls her silly or dismisses her fear, how she sees Hecate, sees her and loves anyways, loves _because_ , not _in spite of_.

The blonde places a light kiss on the tip of Hecate’s nose, her hands tilting Hecate’s head forward so that she can bestow another kiss on the tense space between her brows.

“I’m here,” she repeats.

Hecate burrows her face into the curve of Ada’s neck, inhaling the scent of her warm skin, still tinged with sleepiness, relishing the steady beat of Ada’s jugular against her temple. Yes, Ada is here, blood still pumping, still alive, still strong, still here. There’s the bitter tang of bloodroot and wine, reminding her that Ada is protected by the most powerful spell she can conjure. It will be well. It _is_ well.

Ada’s arms are around her, holding her as Ada’s body shifts slightly against hers. There’s no real friction, no real pressure in the movement, but Hecate finds comfort in this small little rhythm, this dance between their two bodies that has been choreographed and performed and rewritten time and again for so many years now. She responds by pulling herself closer, matching the shifts in Ada’s body, letting her lips come back to Ada’s for a soft, chaste kiss. Their hands take over, slipping over each other’s bodies, mapping out territories they’ve long since explored to the fullest.

The heat in Hecate’s blood rises at the sounds her touches elicit from Ada, the sighs of pleasure and the hums of encouraging approval, and her teeth come out to play along the line of Ada’s throat. Ada is pulling Hecate’s hips down into her, their centers grinding together just enough to make sparks.

Ada’s voice rumbles against her mouth, which is currently at the blonde’s collarbone. “Do you want to forget?”

After all these years, they have developed a language for how they make love. On good days, on wonderful days, Ada will say _take me to the moon_ , and they will make joy between the sheets, laughing and playful and giddy as the young fools they once were. On the very worst of days, Hecate will whisper _make me forget_ , and that means body-shaking, mind-blowing white-hot fucking that leaves both of them unable to think of anything beyond that exact moment with each other.

“No,” Hecate decides. The emotion she can’t fully name, the thing that teeters between fear and sadness, will not be so easily put to rest tonight. It’s better to simply walk with it, rather than trying to force it back into a cage. “No, I think I need to remember, for now.”

Ada merely hums in understanding, fingers threading through Hecate’s hair and directing their mouths back together. She kisses Hecate deeply, as if trying to imprint her with the memory of her lips. When she finally pulls back, she smiles slightly. “Alright, then. We’ll remember.”

Hecate’s eyes are wide as she gives a small nod. She lets Ada push her back, legs still wrapped around the blonde’s hips as she arches, head resting on the mattress. Even in the darkness, Ada can count the darker spaces between each rib, though she never does, never points out to Hecate how her worry eats away at her own body, because she knows how self-conscious her lover can be. But Ada loves the sharpness of those angles, just as much as she loves the pale swell of her breasts or the softness of her belly. She lets her hands slide up the expanse of skin, touching as much of Hecate as she can reach at her current angle. Hecate arches further into her, her eyes still watching Ada with some unreadable emotion that makes their current distance seem even farther.

Yes, Hecate needs to remember, Ada thinks—but not her fear. She needs to remember the good that remains, the parts of their love and themselves that remain, after all this time, after all the battles and the losses and the narrow escapes.

She changes position, shifting to hover over Hecate, her left hipbone coming to rest solidly between the brunette’s thighs—Hecate moves to accommodate her, left leg bending so that Ada can press against her, arms splayed out like a T, open and trusting. Ada places her hands on Hecate’s upper arms, pins her down, letting her feel the full weight of her body, her strength, her vitality.

“I’m here,” Ada repeats. She gives a deep, heavy roll of her hips, heat flashing through her body at the way Hecate’s entire body shifts with her movement. Hecate whines softly, right leg hooking over Ada’s hip, pulling her closer, keeping her anchored to the wet heat Ada feels seeping into her skin as she rocks her hips again, setting a pace that’s filled with intention. Hecate’s left leg is pressing upwards as well, trying to reciprocate, trying to give Ada some measure of relief and release.

Ada watches as Hecate’s eyes close, as she gives herself over to the movements and the sensations they create, not really able to do much under Ada’s firm grip. Those expressive eyebrows knit together, then ease slightly, and those dark eyes open again, finding Ada’s gaze and searing her soul with their intensity.

She’s back, Ada realizes. Hecate went somewhere, for a little while, and she finally just came back to herself. The hazy film that seemed to cover her eyes, the invisible boundary that Ada can’t get past, has disappeared. Once more, Ada offers her the reassurance she so desperately needs, “I’m here.”

“I’m here,” Hecate whispers back, giving the subtlest of nods. And Ada knows for sure that she’s going to be alright. Ada feels the way Hecate’s arms rotate beneath her grip, muscles straining, pushing back, relishing the feel of Ada’s strength. Ada releases her, plants her hands in the mattress just beneath her arms. There are red marks on the pale skin, though they’ll be completely gone by morning. Hecate’s hands flutter to Ada’s cheeks, holding her face as if holding her gaze, meeting the push of Ada’s hips with a roll of her own.

And now it’s Hecate who repeats, “I’m here, Ada, I’m here.”

She draws herself up, pushes her tongue inside Ada’s mouth with such fierce belonging that Ada’s lungs forget to breathe. Every movement of her lips, every nip of her teeth, repeats the mantra: _I’m here, I’m here, I’m back and I’m here._

Ada pushes harder into her, lets her feel the relief and the longing and the life still between them. Hecate gives a small burble of lustful approval, hands scrabbling down Ada’s back, pressing into her, pulling her as close as she can without sending Ada completely collapsing into her. Her right hand snakes back around, squeezing Ada’s hip in appreciation before sliding further down, finger easily finding Ada’s clit and stroking with the kind of lightness that only teases, never relieves. Ada’s hips move faster now, in time with the strumming of Hecate’s hand, and soon she’s trembling, entire body shaking with the sparks shooting through her skin, letting out a deep moan as Hecate slips her fingers inside, curling to hit the spot that makes Ada’s vision go white for a brief flash.

And then Ada is rolling onto her back, Hecate straddling her still-quite-boneless thigh, her hips rolling and rocking with an energy that builds until it borders on absolutely frenetic. Ada holds up her hands, giving Hecate something to steady herself against. Their palms press together as fingers intertwine, and Ada thinks again of how well they fit, even in the smallest details. Hecate is arching, grinding against her, making Ada’s thigh so slick that she can barely keep her rhythm as she continues, her breathing bordering on hyperventilation. Ada doesn’t stop her, lets her exorcise whatever ill energy she still has, simply supports her and gives her whatever she needs in that moment.

With a shuddering sigh, Hecate finally spills into release. By now, Ada knows the tears on her cheeks are a good sign. She pulls the brunette back down beside her, nuzzling their noses and letting their legs entangle in a familiar position.

“See?” Ada finally speaks, once she knows the rush of blood and fire has stopped pounding in Hecate’s veins. She places another small kiss on her forehead. “Still here.”

“Always.” And Ada feels pride beyond measure for how Hecate’s response is a statement, a fact, not a question. There she is, her brave believer, her woman of faith beyond failure.

“Always,” Ada agrees warmly. After a beat, she repeats the words from Hecate’s spell, earlier in the night, “ _The blood of my veins, the air of my lungs, the spark of my mind, the strength of my body, and the flame of my heart_. Rather poetic, Miss Hardbroom.”

Hecate gives a small huff. She should have known Ada would bring that up again. With a wry smirk, she admits, “I’m having it cross-stitched on a pillow for you.”

Ada laughs, and Hecate’s heart swells upon hearing her favorite sound in the world. She burrows under Ada’s chin again, leg easily looping over Ada’s hip as Ada’s arm wraps around her. They’re still sideways on the mattress and the room is slowly going cold—they’ll have to move soon, Hecate knows, but she holds on to this moment, just a little longer.

She feels Ada take a deep breath—strong Ada, powerful Ada, the Ada that could never be defeated, never truly lost. She knows the strength of that woman’s hips is nothing compared to the strength of her mind, the determination of her will. Nothing could ever truly keep them apart, even if Hecate sometimes allows fear to make her forget. But for now, she remembers, and knows with the kind of certainty that settles in her gut and seeps into her bones, making her whole again.

Ada begins to quietly hum, some tuneless thing that patches together various songs and lullabies. The sound resonates against Hecate’s cheek, and she thinks, if there is an afterlife, some kind of paradise beyond this world, it must be something very close to this.

Hecate’s fingertip is lightly rubbing against Ada’s collarbone, and for the first time tonight, the blonde can truly feel her lover’s peacefulness, radiating against her own skin like the purr of a cat. She shifts her head slightly, placing another deep, staying kiss on Hecate’s temple.

 _Thank you._ That’s what she wants to say. _Thank you for letting me save you, thank you for loving me so fiercely that it terrifies you, and yet still loving me, loving me beyond the fear. Thank you for trusting me with that beautiful big heart of yours, thank you for coming back to me, thank you for saving me with your love, again and again._

Instead, she lets her hand slip into Hecate’s hair, tilting the brunette’s head so that she can kiss her again. Hecate shifts against her, leg tightening around Ada’s hip.

And Ada thinks that perhaps it doesn’t matter that it isn’t said, in this moment. Hecate knows. Still, she will tell her, later, in one of the many love letters she still writes on a weekly basis.

She resumes her humming, easily slipping into singing a chant she learned years ago. It is a spell of peace and sweet dreams for the one she loves, and as her words rise, the room begins to eddy and shift, light swirls of pink and purple ghosting over the ceiling. Hecate’s hand reaches up, fingers trilling through the waves of magic with quiet relief. Then she adds her own: two glowing luna moths slip from her fingertips, dancing and flittering through the clouds of Ada’s magic, leaving trails of light that shimmer and blend with the rest.

Ada turns her head slightly, meeting Hecate in a kiss that starts slow and sweet, deepening but never pushing past the point of comfort and adoration. Their bodies shift and counter each other’s movements, finding spaces between each other and filling them with love.

Above them, the luna moths continue to dance and weave through the ripples of pink and purple, warm and reassuring, all through the night.


End file.
